


Five Things About Hustler!Sam

by MistressKat



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Prostitute, M/M, Meme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-30
Updated: 2010-03-30
Packaged: 2017-10-08 13:07:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/75945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistressKat/pseuds/MistressKat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five snapshots of the epic hustler!Sam fic I'll never write.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Things About Hustler!Sam

**Author's Note:**

  * For [claudia_writes](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=claudia_writes).



**1.** The bottom line, the real _kicker_, is that Sam has no one but himself to blame. It’s not like he didn’t have other opportunities, because he _did_; a lecturer offering a data entry job, friend’s uncle needing another part-time assistant in his shop, a self-defence instructor’s position at the campus that he would’ve gotten with little more than a snap of his fingers. 

Still burning with righteous anger, determined to make it on his own, Sam turns all of them down. He won’t take charity and he sure as hell won’t make a living from skills his father taught him. So, in the end, he runs out of money and options, because fuck if he’s going back with a tail between his legs.****

 

***

 

**2.** Sam doesn’t really remember his first john. Or his second, third, or fourth. He remembers the fifth one though: dirty-blond hair, full mouth, swagger covering up for almost painful shyness, the way he pressed against Sam’s back, hot and hard and needy, big hands on his hips.

Yeah. 

The fifth guy is the first client Sam remembers. The first one he really hates too, because he’s the first to make him come.

 

****

 

**3.** Sam has a rule. It’s not the “always wear a rubber” rule, which is more an unyielding law, nor is it the “no kissing on the mouth” rule, which is nothing but a romantic cliché anyway, because there ain’t anywhere he won’t kiss a guy if the money is right.

No, Sam’s rule goes something like this: “Do not fuck the same guy more than twice.” There’s an extra stipulation to that, which says: “If you actually _want to_ fuck the same guy more than twice, _don’t do it_; he’s a trick, not your goddamn boyfriend you idiot, just remember what happened that one time and move the fuck on.” In his head that last part sounds a lot like Dean, which would be sort of funny if it wasn’t so utterly pathetic. 

 

***

 

**4\. **By the time he meets Jess, he’s pretty well established; a known, reliable face in the city’s gay club scene, several miles removed from his college life. Sam thinks about stopping, he does, but in the end he just cuts down to four-five nights a month, just enough to tie him over, to keep his foot in the door.

He doesn’t _actually_ stop until after Jess’ death, and even then it has more to do with the fact that they’re always moving and Dean is always watching and Dean is… Dean just is.

 

***

 

**5\. **He goes briefly back on the game when Dean lies dying in a motel room in Nebraska. Sam figures his brother’s heart is already as broken as it can get, besides which, a couple of hundred dollars might buy them time; specialists, medicine, a miracle.

Afterwards he uses the money for better motel rooms, ammo and food. Dean never questions where he got the extra cash. 

It works so well, that Sam does it again in Montana while Dean is getting chummy with Gordon, and again in Philadelphia, unwilling to play the third wheel. After the bank job disaster in Milwaukee he gets sloppy, slipping out when Dean is sleeping, when he _thinks_ Dean is sleeping. They’re short on money, yes, but more than that, Sam is desperate to feel something, _anything_, other than the constant gut-wrenching fear of getting caught they’ve been living under for weeks now. Hustling at least is a familiar danger, a manageable threat, a risk he can control. And he does.

Right until the moment he turns a corner, taste of latex still in his mouth, and finds Dean leaning on the wall, hands fisted inside the pockets of his leatherjacket.


End file.
